


Despite All

by TeamAlphaQ



Series: Silver Linings Trilogy [2]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Angst, Bruises, But then is he ever?, Drinking, I feel a little sick after writing it actually, I have no idea what the hell I just wrote, I'm actually sorry about this one, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, It's 1:52 a.m., Izaya's really not okay, M/M, One-Shot, Porn, Shizaya - Freeform, Smut, Strangulation, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 11:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11417082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamAlphaQ/pseuds/TeamAlphaQ
Summary: “I guess you’re right,” the Raven says, moving around the table far too slowly. “I didn’t pick your lock just for a drink.”And then Izaya’s mouth covers and claims his and Shizuo ceases to wonder at all. Maybe he really is drunk and just didn't know it because it tastes good, and feels even better but a second later his mind snaps back into place and he shoves Izaya away.“What the hell was that?” Shizuo growls.“Please, don’t stop me,” Izaya whispers.





	Despite All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheMadCatQueen69](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMadCatQueen69/gifts).



> OH boy!
> 
> I literally have no life, no sanity and no idea why I'm up at *glances at the clock* 2:31 still working on this shit but I couldn't help myself. I felt sick while writing it to be honest, but it's oddly... beautiful, ne? Really depressing, just like everything else I write, but also perfect.
> 
> In a very twisted way
> 
> Enjoy MadCat ;) this one's for you.

The door was locked, of that he was certain.

He always locks it, even though he doesn’t really need to. The last time someone tried to slit his throat in his sleep, they ended up in the district over. People just avoid his place in general.

Yet he locks it and he definitely locked it tonight.

But Shizuo hears the tumbling clicks from his kitchen table, hears and watches his front door swing open slowly. Red eyes meet gold and he’s up in an instant, stalking towards the Flea who has chosen to darken his doorstep. He’s never dared before but Shizuo can’t really be bothered to think this through and process the implications.

Instead, he follows his pattern.

“I-za-ya!” he growls, already irate.

Izaya slips inside and shuts the door behind him. “Let’s not be hasty Shizu-chan.” He holds his hands in the air, one empty, one holding a bottle of what looks and smells like alcohol. “I just want to talk.”

That doesn’t stop Shizuo from pinning him to the door by his neck. Izaya’s narrow throat fits so easily under his palm, it’s almost like they were made to play this game. “What the hell do you think you’re doing in my house, huh?” For some reason, Izaya doesn’t struggle, just scrapes the floor with his toes and stares at Shizuo. It’s disconcerting, the blond had expected at least a knife or three.

“I just wanted to have a drink with you,” the Raven hisses past the hand halting his breath. Weakly, Izaya proffers the bottle. “Unless you really are intent on killing me.”

The flea’s eyes are dark, lifeless. It’s tempting to just do it, crush Izaya’s windpipe now and be done with it. Then Shizuo notices the angry purple marks on his throat that weren’t made by his own hands and he finds himself letting Izaya go abruptly as if burned.

As if he’s an old hat at getting nearly choked to death, Izaya clears his throat once and walks around Shizuo, towards his kitchen and the cigarette he’d left burning in the ashtray. It’s incredibly domestic, he acts like he lives there. Shizuo hopes this is Izaya’s first time in his apartment but he knows that’s just too good to be true.

“I never said you could say,” Shizuo grumbles.

“I never said I’d leave,” Izaya responds.

Again, he’s tempted to use force but he doesn’t feel like refurnishing his apartment so Shizuo just watches, silent as Izaya digs about in one of his cupboards and pulls out two plastic cups. Turning around, Izaya softly asks, “Are you going to sit down or are you going to stand there all night Shizu-chan?”

Unsure why he isn’t fighting this more, Shizuo moves towards Izaya and sits back at his shoddy table. His hand goes for his half finished cigarette, knowing he’s going to need it if he’s actually going to go through with this. “Why are you even here?” he grumbles. When Izaya faces him, Shizuo can clearly see the fingerprints maring his ivory skin, can see other marks too, although those might be just a trick of the light.

The way Izaya catches his lip between his teeth isn’t a trick of the light however, it’s real even if only for a second. “Doesn’t matter.” He sits down in front of Shizuo and the cups and bottle clatter against the table.

“Bull,” Shizuo mutters back. He decides he doesn’t like the look in Izaya’s eyes. They’re usually bright with mischief, not dull like he doesn’t care. He’d never thought he’d say it, but he prefers Izaya’s typical asshole-ish behavior to this. 

But he takes the cup Izaya offers him and only gives it a cursory sniff before taking an experimental sip.

“It’s not poisoned,” Izaya mumbles.

“Didn’t think it was,” Shizuo says.

The kitchen is silent, but for the sounds of alcohol being consumed. It’s horribly bitter, one of the reasons Shizuo never drinks, but it leaves him feeling warm and it gives him a chance to watch Izaya’s composure slip. He’s still not sure why Izaya’s here, hadn’t they fought just last week? He can only assume the flea has a reason because he always does. Enemies don’t sit across from each other at a kitchen table and get drunk.

Shizuo doesn’t really get drunk, he’s never consumed enough to do more than leave him tipsy. There are times he tries, it never works. He doesn’t do it enough to know if that’s a positive or a negative.

Izaya, as it turns out, is a lightweight. Whatever they’re drinking, Shizuo suspects it’s vodka because he’s worked as a bartender and the flea doesn’t seem to be in a mood to mess around, has got Izaya’s body sagging against the table and his eyelids drooping closed. He looks miserable, Shizuo doesn’t care enough to comment, Izaya isn’t sober enough to answer.

One cigarette becomes four, one small glass becomes five. Izaya just sits there, silent. In this light, at this angle, Shizuo sees the bruise on his jaw and the blood under his fingernails when he raises his glass to his lips. It makes him wonder, the alcohol makes him stop wondering.

“I expected you to kill me,” Izaya muses, his speech surprisingly coherent for someone who seems to be trying to drink themselves into oblivion in a house that isn’t theirs. “You looked like you wanted to Shizu-chan. Are you finally learning to control that monsterous rage of yours?”

“I like you better when you don’t talk,” Shizuo grunts, eyebrows raised and a scowl on his face. It’s not true because part of him is glad that Izaya is still capable of being a dick, but at the same time, the sharp wit burns. “And I do want to kill you, I just don’t have the money to fix what you destroy.”

“ _ I _ destroy?” Izaya’s smirk falls off at the end and Shizuo can’t tell if it’s because he’s faking it or because he’s drunk. “Ne ne, Shizu-chan, I believe you have gotten our roles reversed, you’re the one constantly throwing things at me, not the other way around.”

He’s almost good enough at faking it to fool Shizuo. Izaya’s an enigma after all. But there’s too much that has to be driving this for Shizuo to ignore. Little by little, he’s putting things together and he doesn’t like it. There isn’t enough alcohol in the world to make this okay.

At yet, he rises to the jab because it’s what he’s always done before.

“Only because you’re always pissing me off.” Shizuo’s eyes fix on Izaya’s and he makes up his mind that he also doesn’t like the discoloration above the flea’s right eye. Like someone slapped him and their ring just happened to be in the way. Where he got that mental picture, he’ll never know. “It’s your fault you always stir up trouble.”

“Now you’re just being unfair,” Izaya sticks out his bottom lip and his head lolls slightly on his neck. “I am a model citizen, unlike a certain idiot I could name who has caused more property damage to Tokyo than the rest of the city combined.”

“Why are you here?” Shizuo demands.

“Because,” Izaya states.

And just like that, the short conversation halts, Izaya’s eyes dropping to the old table as if he can’t hold Shizuo’s gaze. Agitated, the flea shrugs out of his coat, letting it drop to the floor. There are more fingerprints on his collarbone, further bruising. Shizuo’s fairly certain the dark purple mark at the crook of his neck is a bitemark. Snorting, he ignores it because it wasn’t his idea to have Izaya show up at his house in the middle of the night. He doesn’t care. Really.

But he can't stop staring and he almost wants to know who put Izaya in the state he's in. Shizuo knows he hasn't landed a blow in too long so it wasn't him. That should have been all that mattered but he doesn’t like it, the way Izaya’s head falls to the table as he sighs, fingers twitching over the wood like he’s dying.

And he wants to tell the flea to leave because  _ I won’t have you falling asleep here _ but instead he lights another cigarette and grunts when he realizes it’s the last one in the carton. Of course it is, things are never easy.

“I’m tired,” Izaya mutters flatly, finally sitting upright and reaching for the bottle. It’s more than half empty, Shizuo’s pretty sure that’s not a good thing. Still, he doesn’t stop Izaya as he pours himself another half glass. “I haven’t slept in days.”

“I didn’t ask,” Shizuo responds, disgruntled. Izaya’s eyes fix on him and he tries to understand what’s going through the drunk man’s mind. The crimson there is so dull, so blank, like something’s been ripped from Izaya that can’t be repaired. Stolen by whatever left those purple marks and yellow bruises. “I don’t care.”

He  _ doesn’t _ care. He really means it this time. He’s going to stop thinking about Izaya entirely.

Izaya takes a sip of his drink. “I never thought you would, I’m just trying to be pleasant Shizu-chan.” His voice is reproachful. “Can’t we have an amicable dialogue?”

“Pleasant isn’t picking the lock of my damn door and breaking in at this time of night,” Shizuo reminds him, tone surly. “Don’t give me that niceness crap.”

“Would you prefer it if I was rude?” Izaya questions. It’s clear he’s not fully aware, it’s obvious the alcohol has got to him. Why else would he be having a normal conversation with Shizuo at all?

“I’d prefer it if you left,” Shizuo says, irritable. “Look, Izaya, just don’t fall asleep on my table. I don’t want you here and you still haven’t told me why you felt the need to break into my house in the first place.”

Izaya doesn’t answer and Shizuo’s getting tired of the silence. It pisses him off that Izaya thinks he can come in here with a bottle of vodka and bruises on his body and just sit down without telling Shizuo why. He almost asks again, almost, but he keeps his mouth closed.

The worst part is that a part of him is starting to think about this whole situation, really  _ think. _ Those handprints are too obvious for him to not see them. Shizuo doesn’t want to imagine how hard someone’s grip would have to be to leave marks like that but he can’t stop himself. Then his eyes are traveling and it’s like every mark brings him closer to the inevitable conclusion.

What really does it are the marks on Izaya’s wrists. Twin bands of raw, red skin. Like something had been restraining him. Something he’d struggled against hard enough to leave welts.

Shizuo opens his mouth as it hits him but he can’t say a word. He’s not even sure he’s right, he just  _ knows. _ It makes him feel sick. And now he wants an answer even more because why the hell is Izaya even here if he was… “Tell me Izaya,” he growls. “Tell me, or I’m throwing you out.” Which implies there’s another outcome than leaving. Shizuo ignores that.

“What, too drunk to kill me tonight? Don’t want to make a promise you can’t keep?” Izaya’s face is frozen, like he’s hiding the things going on in his head. Shizuo hates this, the dead expression, the bruises, the way the heavy smell of alcohol is filling the room. He just wants some answers to questions he should really find irrelevant in the first place.

“I’m serious Flea!” Shizuo snaps, crushing the remainder of his cigarette between his fingers. “You’re here and you’re not trying to hurt me so just what the hell is going on?”

_ Maybe, _ he thinks retrospectively.  _ That was too far. _

So he clamps his mouth shut and glares at the bottle in the middle of the table like he can burn through it with his gaze alone. Izaya, frustratingly, is silent. Even Shizuo’s outburst doesn’t seem to have provoked a satisfying answer. He just sits there quietly. That is, until his chair scrapes against the floor and he gets to his feet deliberately. 

Apparently, he’s leaving. Shizuo knows him and his forcefulness is the reason Izaya won’t stay but he tells himself that he doesn't care. Even if he almost knows why Izaya’s in the state he’s in, Shizuo decides that he’s not going to raise issue again. If he wants to, the Raven can leave. Far be it from him to keep the man from just walking out.

_ Really, this is fine _ .

“I guess you’re right,” Izaya says flatly, moving around the table far too slowly. Shizuo sees his coat on the floor and wonders why Izaya hasn’t grabbed it before wondering why the man is walking towards him and why he doesn’t stop the Flea when one of those fine-boned hands finds itself in his shirt. “I didn’t pick your lock just for a drink.”

And then Izaya’s mouth covers and claims his and Shizuo ceases to wonder at all. Maybe he really is drunk and just didn't know it because it tastes good, and feels even better but a second later his mind snaps back into place and he shoves Izaya away. Less than a second later Shizuo’s got the man pinned by the wrists to his kitchen table. It gives him a moment to regain some semblance of thought.

“What the hell was that?” Shizuo growls.

“Please, don’t stop me,” Izaya whispers.

His eyes are full of something, the first emotion Shizuo’s seen in him all night. It’s something desperate, something painful, and like so many other things about Izaya tonight, he doesn’t like it. This close, Shizuo can’t deny that someone practically mauled the man, leaving him black and blue and he hates it.

He  _ does _ care.

“What’s going on in your head Izaya, why are you here, what’s wrong with you?” Shizuo all but shouts, still able to taste Izaya on his lips like a drug. Worse than any cigarette he’s ever had. Oh he can try and convince himself he hates that bittersweet flavor but he’s not  _ that _ good at lying. “Why the hell are you covered in bruises? What is this even supposed to be?”

“You don’t want to know.” Izaya breathes it like it’s a plea for mercy. Who he’s praying to is anyone’s guess but Shizuo has a feeling that the man is answering all his questions at once. It’s only then that the blond is forced to realize that he  _ doesn’t _ want to know. This is  _ his _ enemy, and someone else hurt him.

Badly, if Shizuo’s any judge.

“I can’t do anything if you don’t tell me,” Shizuo states bluntly, against his better judgement. If he has any of that left. Again with the implications. He might as well say that he’s willing to do something for Izaya. He wants to believe it’s a lie but Shizuo knows that it’s true. And he’s not even sure how he’s supposed to he helping because Izaya’s still bent over his table and that wasn’t his idea at all. Decisively, Shizuo pulls one of Izaya’s wrists towards him so they aren’t at an awkward angle. 

Except this is worse. Now they’re all too close and Izaya’s still looking at him like he wants to cry but no longer has that word in his vocabulary. It’s heartbreaking, if that word can even be applied to the man.

“You know what I want,” Izaya says, words dripping from him like his own version of desperate tears. “So just give it to me. I’ve never asked you for anything Shizu-chan, is this really such an insurmountable request?” He knows Izaya’s trying to manipulate him with his pleading words but Shizuo’s pulling Izaya’s hand closer anyway, bringing them together.

But he can’t just give in, he’s still missing a piece of the horrible puzzle assembling itself in his mind. He shouldn’t be doing  _ anything _ until he understands.

Yet he leans in, rests his head against Izaya’s forehead, feels the forced emptiness of alcohol and the underlying pain coming off of him in waves. Shizuo knows deep down, knows what Izaya’s asking for and knows why the man is covered in dark red marks that are only just now starting to fade. He can even guess as to why the man came here in particular and why he had to get drunk first. It’s all one calculated move at this point. And yet somewhere in those carefully planned moves is a blatant desperation that cuts like a hot blade.

There isn’t anything Shizuo can do. No more ways to confront Izaya on what happened because he already knows. No more walls to throw between himself and the broken man before him because he’s running out of excuses. No more room to breathe because they’re just too close.

So he says the only thing he can say. One last appeal to reason. “It’s not going to help you Izaya, this isn’t the answer. Whatever’s wrong, you can’t just wish it away.”  _ Just tell me what happened Izaya. Who, where, when? Today? Yesterday? A week ago? A stranger? A friend? A colleague? Were you in a back alley or was it a demonstration? Were there others around? _

_ Who do I need to go after to relieve this horrible righteous anger? _

Izaya doesn’t meet his eyes, Shizuo doesn’t blame him. But he’d almost wished for something different.

“Who did this to you?” Shizuo murmurs.

“Does it even matter?” Izaya breathes.

Maybe he’s right, maybe it doesn’t. The result this the same, knowing doesn’t make this any less painful, any less raw. An open wound for all to see, festering and leaking puss and bad memories. Izaya’s eyes flutter closed, like he’s waiting for something. It only takes a second to understand.

He’s got two options. Maybe three but he’s too far gone for the third to even be a possibility.

So he goes with the second option and closes the distance between them again. Izaya’s mouth parts for his intrusion so sweetly, like he can’t muster the energy to fight or to respond. The momentary spark of goodness vanishes and Shizuo feels sick. He can’t do any good like this, all he’s going to do is compound a problem Izaya doesn’t know how to handle. 

But he coaxes Izaya into reacting to him anyway, tries to be gentle when half of him wants to shove the man away and the other half wants to just devour him and get it over with.  _ I’m not helping. _ Izaya’s cheeks taste like blood, he’s been biting them too much. A line of saliva leaks from the corner of Izaya’s mouth as he whimpers against Shizuo, overwhelmed by the sensation.

Again Shizuo draws back and Izaya whines pathetically at his retreat. If the man had been a mess before, now he’s coming apart at the seams. There’s still no spark in those half-lidded eyes but there’s a twisted sort of want in the air that disgusts Shizuo. This isn’t the way this should have gone.

This shouldn’t be happening at all.

Izaya shouldn’t have shown up with so many marks on his skin.

Darting his tongue over glistening lips, Izaya whispers, “Harder Shizu-chan, I never asked for gentle.” It’s not what he really wants though, he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for. All Izaya wants is something to make him forget the pain he’s experiencing, if even for a moment. ‘Harder’ isn’t going to do that.

But neither is going slow so Shizuo knows he’s going to lose either way.

“I never asked for this,” Shizuo retorts. Brushing his thumb over the hand still pinned to his kitchen table, the blond takes in the battered flesh of Izaya’s arm. Too many handprints, too much pain. “I’m not a solution Izaya, I’ll just end up as more of the problem.”

“Then be a problem,” Izaya begs, moving the hand Shizuo holds between them to the blond’s shirt. “Be  _ my _ problem.” His grip isn’t hard but Shizuo lets himself be pulled closer by him regardless. “Just make it stop hurting.”

“I can’t,” he murmurs but he moves closer anyway. Planting his feet so Izaya’s are between them, Shizuo leans in and nips at the Raven’s lower lip before moving to the mark above his eyebrow, his discolored jaw. Those he just presses his mouth against as if to acknowledge their pain and take it from them.

He keeps telling himself he doesn’t want to know, but truth be told, he doesn’t have to know for sure. Shizuo can too easily see a fist in the dark knocking Izaya to the ground with a hook to his jaw, the slap Izaya never saw coming as he tried to escape.

Worse, he can hear how Izaya’s bargaining would turn to begging, then pleading, then simply screams for it to just  _ stop. _ Cries that went unanswered if the other bruises are any indication. Each one a testament to what Izaya was forced to endure.

And he’s back to wanting to ask, even though he already knows the answer.

Finally moving back to Izaya’s lips, Shizuo pushes a little more forcefully, releases the wrist of the hand that’s bunched in his shirt so he can slide it into Izaya’s hair. He finds a lump the size of an egg there and Izaya winces but doesn’t break the kiss. This sort of thing isn’t supposed to be so bitter.

But Izaya’s never been sweet. And the situation is anything but. Like that second slap to the face that always takes you by surprise as much as the first does, Shizuo is forced to acknowledge what they’re about to do and why. The realization makes his stomach turn.

“I don’t want to do this,” Shizuo whispers against Izaya’s lips, letting his fingers slip down the Raven’s neck, memorizing all the spots that make him flinch. “Izaya  _ please, _ this isn’t good for you. Just get some sleep. Talk to someone. Don’t do this to yourself.”

“I can do what I want. Right now, I want this.” Izaya’s voice ghosts by his ear and Shizuo doesn’t like how much he likes it. Enemies, right? Surprising how much a situation can change. Suddenly Shizuo finds himself wondering if Izaya had been counting on him staying pissed and just hurting him more.

“You’re completely self destructive,” Shizuo realizes.

“Only just now figuring that out?” Izaya chuckles.

He doesn’t want to but his hand keeps slipping, catches at the collar of Izaya’s shirt, stutters down the back and finally comes to rest on Izaya’s waist. It’s a simple matter to press their bodies together, even simpler to question his sanity because this is truly his decision. Shizuo hates that he feels trapped, hates that Izaya’s good enough even when broken to play with him like a puppet, but he likes the way Izaya’s clenched hand flattens along his chest and slowly creeps down his torso.

Shizuo’s kisses move to Izaya’s neck, right under the jaw before traveling with the natural lines of the Raven’s throat. He wants to obsess over the bruises but all he can do is attempt not to create more. His attention is focused instead on drawing shudders from Izaya’s tired form. Each one might have been sweet but to Shizuo they taste like bile.

Yet his body reacts to them, which only makes it worse.

Izaya’s coming apart too, which at least means they can suffer together. But Shizuo doesn’t want Izaya to suffer, he wants him to be Izaya. Maybe this time, that’s just too much to ask.

He discovers that Izaya reacts most when he laves his tongue over the bits of exposed collar bone that are accessible over his shirt. Even when Shizuo hits a bruise Izaya doesn’t seem to mind, he just jolts before murmuring softly under his breath as he trembles beneath the attention. Shizuo suspects the only thing holding Izaya up is the hand at his waist. He’s acting boneless after all.

That, as much as anything right now, scares Shizuo into pulling back again. Izaya’s eyes roll open and they aren’t empty anymore, there’s something in them. A genuine need that hits harder than the emptiness did. Like he’d get down on his knees and pray if he knew how. Shizuo hasn’t left any marks but he almost wishes he had because all he sees are the fingerprints of someone else.

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya’s breathing is labored. He swallows deliberately like he can hardly hold himself together. “What are you-”

“I’m sorry,” Shizuo finds himself muttering, even though it isn’t his fault. He keeps whispering it though, a mantra that he continues as his lips move over Izaya’s cheek, his jaw and the shell of his ear.  _ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. _

It’s not as if he could have saved Izaya from what happened. He doesn’t even know when it happened, let alone where. Shizuo isn’t culpable but he feels guilty all the same so he keeps saying the words as if wishing them into being. Izaya stifles a gasp as Shizuo’s teeth catch on a spot behind his ear and when he can’t see his battered face, the blond almost finds it sweet.

In this moment, Izaya’s not his enemy.

Shizuo allows himself this moment. It makes this all so much easier.

Izaya’s head falls to Shizuo’s shoulder as he shakes under the blond’s ministrations. For some reason, Shizuo remembers that he still has Izaya’s other hand pinned under his and he releases it so he can find better purchase on Izaya’s neck. Perhaps inevitably, Izaya uses his freedom to tangle fingers in Shizuo’s hair before dragging him down into a sloppy kiss that misses more than it manages to connect.

_ Am I really doing this? _ Shizuo wants to ask it, but he knows the answer. Just like so many questions it seems, he’s aware of how pointless it is. Because all of it leads back to the present and Shizuo’s current present involves Izaya’s hips starting to rub against his, just little twitches that he knows are going to lead to something bigger.

His next though is  _ are we really going to do this in the kitchen? _ To which his answer was no. Doubtless Izaya didn’t have the luxury of a bed before, Shizuo doesn’t want to deprive him of it now. No matter what the Raven says, Shizuo wants to do this on his terms if they do it at all.

_ If, _ heh, like there’s another route this will go.

So he just hooks both arms under Izaya and lifts him off the ground easily, encouraging him to wrap his legs around his waist. When Izaya doesn’t voice a complaint, Shizuo keeps moving, discovering that he likes the feeling of Izaya’s toned backside under his hands. He squeezes, Izaya’s only response is to groan into the blond’s mouth. Part of Shizuo is still holding back, the rest of him is realizing just how much he wants this.

When he finally makes it into his tiny bedroom and sits on his bed, Shizuo pulls back for a moment, taking in the sight of Izaya, gasping and flushed. His lips are swollen and parted, his skin his hot to the touch as opposed to its usual chill and the bruises don’t stand out so much. This, more than anything, is what Shizuo likes about it.

“Are you sure?” Shizuo clarifies.

“Don’t ask me that now,” Izaya bites.

So he doesn’t, he just slips his hands under Izaya’s shirt before the Raven pushes him away. “Don’t,” he pleads, whatever hint of pride he has left fighting Shizuo’s advance. It’s clear what he’s hiding. More bruises, more pain. Shizuo wonders if this is really doing as Izaya intended and letting him forget his pain or if it’s just bringing it up and forcing him to deal with it.

The blond doesn’t know which one would be better.

But he doesn’t fight it, he just strips of his own tee-shirt, letting it fall to the floor. Izaya stares at the lattice of white scars that crisscross Shizuo’s chest, almost like he’s registering that the man has his own old wounds. Whatever Shizuo had meant to do, he decides that this is probably more productive.

Slowly, Izaya lifts his shirt.

Shizuo  _ doesn’t _ gasp in horror at the horrible green and yellow stain that spreads over Izaya’s ribs. He  _ doesn’t _ stare in shock at the cuts that look like they were made with a dull knife or maybe shards of glass. Above all, he  _ doesn’t _ see the way Izaya shrinks away under his gaze as if ashamed.

But he does see the way he trembles, half with fear and half with want. So Shizuo doesn’t dwell on it, he just pulls Izaya in and presses their bare chests together, letting Izaya pretend that there’s nothing there to see. His tongue gently mixing with Izaya’s is enough to distract.

He’s not sure when he shifts, but Shizuo knows that he’d been vertical a few seconds ago. Now he’s on top of Izaya, pressing open mouthed kisses to his collarbone before he trails lower, wishing he could make the horrible evidence of the pain vanish. His tongue brushes over one of Izaya’s nipples and the man arches into him, whispering his name like it’s his dying breath.

Almost reverent.

Almost.

So Shizuo just repeats this, sucking gently and teasing the hard flesh until he has Izaya panting and rolling his hips against the blond’s for real.  _ This isn’t really helping. _ But Izaya’s name is on the tip of his tongue and Izaya’s fingers are running over Shizuo’s hot skin like fire. If Izaya wants it, Shizuo’s going to give it to him. 

Just here, just tonight. Just while they exist in this small little microcosm of pain and deep seated need. The need to be closer, the need to receive comfort, the need to give comfort.

The need to make things right, however impossible it is.

Shizuo’s hands drift back to Izaya’s waist, holding him gently, all things considered, before pulling them together firmly. Izaya’s hard, he isn’t even bothering to hide it. All he does is moan softly as Shizuo grinds his hips down deliberately. Shizuo’s own clothed erection twitches at the sound and he almost hates himself for taking pleasure in this when it’s so bad for the Raven.

_ Almost. _

But he doesn’t, he just repeats the movement, rumbling in approval at the heady sensation of Izaya’s dick rubbing against his own. Izaya’s just devolved into panting, throwing Shizuo’s name into the mix every now and again for good measure. It’s no longer about the bruises, it’s just about forgetting.

And Shizuo doesn’t want to think of how bad Izaya’s hips look. Purple and blue and green no doubt, damaged and painful beyond belief.

Gritting his teeth, Shizuo abandons his attentive work on Izaya’s chest to claim his mouth again. He cares, but he doesn’t want to care  _ this _ much. Then again, when have his emotions ever listened to him?

Izaya’s fingers distract him as they flutter over the waistband of his sweatpants. Shizuo reciprocates by finding the zipper of the Raven’s jeans before undoing it, giving the man some measure of relief. His boxers are already wet.

Shizuo can’t believe Izaya even wants this after what must have happened to him. But wasn’t it Shinra who always said people dealt with tragedy differently? This is certainly different. Shizuo can’t accept that it’s easier.

At the same time though, it is. Izaya melts under his touch and Shizuo wonders if he’s really making anything better. He almost wants to believe it when the Raven mewls softly and flutters his hands over Shizuo’s back as if he can’t gain any purchase. Shizuo just keeps rubbing him through the damp fabric, keeps feeling himself get harder at every sound Izaya makes.

He can’t even remember if he’s ever thought about this before. But now that its here, Shizuo wonders why Izaya wasn’t here that horrible night instead of wherever his peace of mind was ripped from him. They aren’t even really enemies, are they? Just obsessed.

And this proves it because he can almost understand why Izaya came to him instead of just caving in on himself. Shizuo’s almost glad he did.

Almost.

So he hooks his fingers under the hem of Izaya’s jeans and finally divests the man of them. The Raven shivers as the cold hits his skin but Shizuo is there, covering him, focusing his attention elsewhere. But the blond isn’t so easily distracted and he sees the horrible marks on the insides of Izaya’s thighs. The hands, the bruises, the memory of pain.

Abandoning Izaya’s erection for a moment, Shizuo gently massages at the man’s thighs, provoking whimpers. He’s not quite sure of what so he just rolls his hips against Izaya’s once more, earning a moan that he devours before it escapes swollen lips. Part of him knows he’s treating this like a holy act. 

The rest of him knows its what Izaya needs. If there’s anything at all to be gained from this, it’s this.

Izaya’s fingers tug at Shizuo’s sweatpants, his legs parting invitingly. Shizuo can feel Izaya’s heartbeat because it’s out of sync with his own and almost twice as loud. He can only pray it’s not out of fear. Because that’s what he was expecting really. It’s the reaction any normal person would have to something that horrific.

But Izaya just works the blond’s pants down another inch and catches his boxers as well, pulling them down as well. Finally, Shizuo gives into Izaya and acquiesces, divesting himself of his sweats and his boxers, baring himself for Izaya.

“Are you sure this will help?” Shizuo urges.

“Let me pretend it will,” Izaya pants.

So he does. He pulls Izaya’s boxers off and presses down, drawing a gasp from Izaya that’s so perfect, Shizuo can’t help but wish he’d done this sooner. But maybe that would have been impossible because the only reason it’s happening at all is because of what happened. Maybe it’s all inevitable. A twist of fate that’s doubly cruel because Shizuo can feel each raised lump and hear every moment of discomfort as Izaya’s hips protest their actions.

Almost as an afterthought, Shizuo reaches blindly for his bedside table and digs around in the drawer for a moment. God knows how he got his hands on a bottle of lube, probably his brother gave it to him or something. He’s glad he has it though because he wants to make this as painless as possible.

Izaya twitches at the sound of the cap being opened and he disengages from the kiss to look into Shizuo’s eyes with a flicker of worry. The blond’s not sure what possesses him to kiss Izaya’s nose as a means of reassurance but it works because Izaya just grips tight to Shizuo’s neck and murmurs, “Try not to hurt me too much, ne?”

Maybe he’s realizing how much this gentleness is for his benefit. Maybe he understands that it helps.

Or maybe not.

“I’ll stop if you want me to.” Shizuo means it, even thought his erection is throbbing and he wants this far more than he should. This is for Izaya, strange though the words might sound, and he doesn’t want to make it worse than it already is. Actually, that’s inevitable, but he doesn’t want it to be like this. He wants this moment to last just a little longer.

“Don’t stop,” Izaya growls, want heavy in his voice. Lust and desperation. Pain too, but they both ignore that as they’ve been doing for the rest of the night. “Don’t you dare stop Shizuo. Just do it, okay?”

Shizuo obeys, coating his fingers liberally in the cold lube before tentatively lifting Izaya’s hips and prodding at his entrance. The gasp he receives is a gasp he knows is fear. The whimper that follows shortly thereafter makes him start to pull back but Izaya summons enough wherewithal to glare at him.

“Stop hesitating your beast!” Which is in contrast to what his body is telling Shizuo but he gets it. Because Izaya came here for a specific reason, he wanted the comfort that came from their years of history, he wanted something familiar and he wanted to remember it. This is something he won’t forget, Shizuo’s sure of that.

But Izaya also wanted someone who would put up with his bull, care enough to do so. How the man knew Shizuo would care is beyond the blond but it’s Izaya, even in this state he’s far smarter than most of the world put together. So Shizuo just palms Izaya’s erection to distract him as he slips the first finger through the first ring of muscle and waits for Izaya to relax.

He doesn’t of course, he just breathes heavily and fights his own panic. This is his way of facing this and Shizuo is now sure of why Izaya needed to get drunk before following through with it. He needed some of that liquid courage that’s more liquid paralysis than anything. It’s not doing much for him now, but Izaya still forces himself to still, to relax.

Stroking Izaya’s dick in time to his preparations, Shizuo alternates between whispering calming things in Izaya’s ears and kissing almost every available surface. His forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks, his lips, his ears, his jaw. Anything to make it easier for Izaya.

Once he deems him ready, Shizuo adds another finger and scissors them carefully. Izaya’s erection is weeping in his hand and his fear is slowly slipping away, giving way to eventual pleasure. The relief in Izaya’s eyes is tangible as Shizuo continues. Breaking through that barrier of fear for the time being, allowing him to just enjoy what is happening.

Three fingers does cause him some pain, but Shizuo discovers that when he curls his fingers up just so, Izaya quickly forgets that discomfort. So he does it, again and again until Izaya is a puddle of soft moans and marred ivory skin.

He decides that despite the imperfections, despite the fingerprints of someone else that mark Izaya, the Raven looks beautiful. There’s something about the curve of Izaya’s bottom lip, the shift of his hair and the arching of his spine that’s perfect to Shizuo for reasons he doesn’t even understand. Izaya probably can’t see it, wouldn’t believe him if he says it, but Shizuo knows it’s true.

That’s enough for now. He can say it later. If there is a later.

“I’m ready,” Izaya pants, nails digging into Shizuo’s back. “Stop teasing, monster.” Shizuo doesn’t need to be told twice, he quickly removes his fingers from Izaya and finds the lube buried in the twisted sheets beneath them. He pops the top again, using it to cover his throbbing erection. Izaya whines at the absence of Shizuo’s digits so Shizuo kisses him again, this time letting Izaya take over, choosing to let the Raven run his tongue over the roof of his mouth and explore him in this small way. 

It’s unexpectedly sweet.

Lifting Izaya’s hips again, Shizuo lines himself up with Izaya and waits, though he’s not sure for what. Maybe permission. Maybe something else.

What he gets is Izaya’s teeth sinking into his bottom lip, the first real memory of the Izaya Shizuo remembers. It’s a clear enough sign, and more encouraging that anything he would have hoped for. Carefully, Shizuo pushes in.

Instantly, he’s in heaven because it feels glorious inside Izaya. The Raven has a bit more trouble with the intrusion, grunting as he relaxes in an attempt to accommodate Shizuo’s size. Yet even as he makes like it hurts, Izaya’s heels dig decisively into Shizuo’s back, forcing himself further onto Shizuo’s erection until he’s fully seated inside the man.

Whispering Izaya’s name like a curse and a prayer, Shizuo tries to keep from tipping over the edge right then and there. Izaya keeps clenching and unclenching as he bites his lip from the discomfort. This time Izaya seeks out Shizuo’s mouth and this kiss is harder, faster. More needy, more desperate. Instantly, Shizuo finds himself absolutely addicted.

Izaya might be flawed, but so is Shizuo. Broken is the only way they can exist.

Once the Raven relaxes and Shizuo feels like he can move, he pulls back slowly before snapping his hips forward. By his standards it’s gentle the creak of the bed disagrees. Izaya however moans unabashedly and grinds down against Shizuo, making them both groan.

“Don’t hold back,” Izaya hisses, red eyes staring at Shizuo through slits that almost entirely hide the flame that’s kindling there. It’s dim, Shizuo doesn’t doubt that it’s going to be a long time before it blazes with its former glory, if ever, but it’s there. And he loves it. “Come on, let’s see what the fortissimo of Ikebukuro can do.”

“Sure you can handle me?” Shizuo rumbles.

“Who do you think I am?” Izaya retorts.

It’s funny, because it’s almost normal and it comes in the oddest time but that doesn’t stop Shizuo from pulling his hips back and thrusting again, developing a rhythm that Izaya keeps up with. It’s not really making things all better but for just a moment, they pretend it does.

Izaya’s mouth falls open as a litany of foreign sounding words mixed with Shizuo’s name tumble from his lips. Whatever barrier they’ve broken through, it seems to have set Izaya’s tongue free. He’s loud as he moans every time Shizuo’s dick hits the bundle of nerves that makes him see stars. It’s slightly obscene and definitely daring, so really everything that Izaya usually is, just without all the masks.

Shizuo can still see the pain, knows it’s there, but he covers it. His hands roam over Izaya hungrily until they find places to rest. One under Izaya’s neck, pulling the man closer that seems possible. The other on Izaya’s neglected erection where he pumps in tandem with his thrusts. Izaya’s kisses are desperate.

At this point, they’re both desperate.

Desperately trying to find release, desperately scrambling to find an end to whatever insanity they’re feeling. It’s good and terrible and perfect and painful all at the same time. Izaya’s skin is hot and Shizuo’s blood is fire. It’s desire and it’s Shizuo’s silent promise to Izaya that he’s not alone and every dark thunderhead has its silver lining.

Izaya shouts as he finally climaxes, shuddering as he covers both of them in a sticky mess. Shizuo grits his teeth as Izaya clenches around him and a moment later he follows, thrusting into him sporadically as he rides out the feeling till its end. He finds Izaya’s mouth and pulls him into one last desperate kiss that sucks whatever breath Izaya had left from his lungs in a rush.

Then everything is still and all that’s left is the sound of their labored breathing.

Coming to enough to pull out, Shizuo notices the smile on Izaya’s face. But what he really sees are the tears, streaming down the man’s face like the floodgates have been opened. Without even thinking, Shizuo pulls Izaya in close and whispers to him, worried.

“Izaya, please, what’s wrong?” he murmurs, smoothing down Izaya’s mussed hair and wishing he could just absorb some of the Raven’s pain. Anything to lessen the sobs that are now wracking Izaya’s body. But nothing can so he just yanks the covers over them and holds him, because that’s all he can do.

He knows the tears are from the pain Izaya’s been bottling up and that letting them out probably feels good, but Shizuo still hates it. Planting kisses in Izaya’s hair, he just keeps telling Izaya that he’s sorry, that it’s going to get  _ better _ because it’ll never be okay. Eventually, the tears lessen. Izaya’s sobs quiet. Eventually he just hiccups and lets out a soft sniffle every now and then. 

But Shizuo doesn’t stop whispering until Izaya speaks.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Izaya mumbles.

“I didn’t think you did,” Shizuo responds.

“No,” Izaya insists, voice stubborn, that pain still there but tempered by the emotions Shizuo sorely missed him having. “I mean I never want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” Shizuo says, running soothing hands down Izaya’s bare back, tracing his spine. He’s not sure if he can continue pretending like Izaya isn’t Izaya and he isn’t Shizuo but as long as the illusion holds, he’ll keep it up because he’s starting to wonder if maybe he likes it. For real, not just in this strange warped reality.

“I-I’m sorry,” Izaya breathes against Shizuo’s collarbone, sticking his nose into the space between Shizuo’s neck and his pillow and falling still there. Shizuo takes it a step further and tangles his legs with Izaya’s, glad when the Raven doesn’t stop him. “I just- I didn’t know what to do. And you were… You’re Shizu-chan.”

“It’s okay Flea,” he mutters, unsure when it became okay. “Just sleep.”

And they do. Izaya falling into the clutches of the night quickly after avoiding them for so long and Shizuo soon thereafter, satisfied in the oddest way that Izaya’s safe and no one can touch him.

~•~

When Shizuo wakes up, he’s unsurprised to find Izaya gone. The spot where he lay is cold, his clothes are gone. Shizuo wonders if he should feel disappointed, but it’s more like acceptance. Izaya’s not the type to stick around.

He’s a little stiff as he gets up. What he’s more worried about is the fact that he smells horrible. With a bitter laugh, Shizuo walks towards his bathroom. Izaya used the shower, he can smell the man everywhere. He almost wants to be annoyed, but he isn’t.

He’s not really sure what to think of the night before. Shizuo wants to believe it was a drunken accident, but that’s only the small part of his brain who wants to cling to the notion that he hates Izaya. The rest of him knows what it was. 

Knows it was inevitable. 

Remembers it was good.

Prays Izaya is doing okay, even after everything.

Shizuo believes that this is the last he’ll think of it for the day, has almost convinced himself of it when he walks into his kitchen and finds the empty bottle of vodka. Except there’s a note. And the four words really do annoy him but it feels good to watch the bottle shatter against the floor.

_ I stole your key. _

But he’s distinctly glad. Not happy, but glad to know that Izaya’s coming back.

When he leaves for work, the door is left locked. Of this he is certain.

But he doubts it’ll still be like that when he gets back.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> What? A happy ending?  
> What is the world coming to??
> 
> Ne ne, I'm tired, it must be the late hour that's getting to me ;)
> 
> See you later darlings~


End file.
